You Can Call Her, but Not as a Dancer
by Alithea
Summary: AU setting. Catherine needs a change and finds a little advice on the dance floor.


**Title: You Can Call Her, but Not as Dancer  
Rating: PG-13  
Characters are not mine. I am just borrowing.  
**

* * *

Somewhere between the theater and the restaurant Catherine Bloom had developed a quiet, yard long stare at nothing that signaled discontent. Catherine usually had no problems voicing her feelings and opinions, but a thought had captured her, and it concerned her brother enough to consider pulling over to the side. After a few minutes though Catherine took a deep breath and switched the stereo on.

"I think I need a change, Trowa."

Trowa nodded and then asked, "What sort of change?"

"The big kind," Catherine replied and then added, "Or maybe not. Life is feeling rather claustrophobic at the moment."

"Because of the theater? If it's the theater I'm sure the others will-"

"No," she interrupted and sighed as the restaurant came into view. She always waited till the last minute to make confessions and decisions, or, rather, she waited until the last minute to reveal them. "Maybe it's just…" She shook her head as her brother parked the car and then looked over at him. "I'm just not feeling that creative edge like I used to."

"Okay."

"I mean, it has been hard to switch gears from dancer to choreographer, but I still had that drive. I still knew that what I created was…powerful. I mean, this isn't Broadway, but I never expected… And now the cast and crew wants to take me to dinner for winning this local award, for helping the show get local recognition, and I am…" She let out a breath and looked back out the window brushing her shoulder length locks of red hair from her face. "I just don't feel it," she put her hand over her heart and continued, "in here."

Trowa was quiet for a moment, and then his jaw set in an awkward fashion as he crossed his arms over his chest. Then he nodded and said, "You can make it through this dinner, Cathy. It's just a dinner with people who love you. It doesn't have be anything more than that. Get through this dinner, and when we get home, maybe I can think of something to help you along."

Catherine nodded and opened her door. "God damn it… Trowa, why are you always so clear headed about these things?"

Trowa shrugged and then stated coolly, "Whoever said I was clear headed?"

* * *

Catherine stood on the balcony of the hotel room and looked out at the city view. There were mountains in the distance and snow still covering the highest peaks. She took in a breath of brisk air and let it out. The vacation was Trowa's idea, it had to have been, but it was presented to her in gentle and commanding terms by Wufei , who wasn't about to loose his choreographer to a mid-career crisis.

She stepped back into her room and sat on the bed. She was trying to convince herself to get outside and at least go to dinner somewhere. Then she stood up, walked over to her luggage, and laid out an evening gown. The trip was about finding her spark, and a night at a burger joint wouldn't do, even though that was once all she needed.

After a quick shower she dressed and then went down to the hotel concierge where a plucky young man in a suit and long braid stood with a devilish looking smile on his face.

"What can you recommend for a fancy dining experience," Catherine asked and leaned onto the desk.

The young man looked her over, pausing at the fancy flats and then asked, "Are you looking to just dine or would you like a little dancing to go with that?"

Catherine grimaced and then said, "Well, dancing isn't a requirement, but if you know a place with a good view of the dance floor I wouldn't complain."

He nodded. "I've got just the place, Four Quat's. They usually require a reservation in advance, but I can get you in."

"I bet you can. That would be lovely." She smiled.

"May I ask a personal question," the young man asked.

"Sure, Mr.-"

"You can just call me Duo. The mister is too formal for me, always has been."

"Right." She nodded and waited for the question.

"Ankle or knee injury?"

Catherine bit her bottom lip and then replied a little coldly, "Knee."

Duo felt the chill in her tone and then spoke apologetically, "I'm sorry. Things like that are sore topics for certain people. I just mentioned because…well… the flats. They don't quite suit the dress."

She found a smile in his blatant honesty and veiled hint that being a concierge wasn't his primary career goal. "They really don't, but heels aren't a smart move for me anymore."

"Fair enough. I'll call in that reservation for you, and a cab as well." He paused and then grinned wickedly, "Unless, you want a limo."

Catherine took no time to reply, "A limo would be awesome."

* * *

Four Quat's was a very nice place, and under any other circumstances Catherine would not have dined there. It was the sort of place that seemed to be designed to make wallets cry in pain and bank accounts dwindle, unless of course the wallets and bank accounts were already filled to the brim. Duo, the plucky concierge, managed to get Catherine a table near the dance floor, and those tables seemed to be in high demand judging from the envious stares the other patrons were giving her.

She ordered a cocktail and the most inexpensive plate of caviar she could afford, mostly just so she could say she had tried it.

The meal, when it arrived, was superb, as was the dessert.

She felt indulged and relaxed, and then the dancing started.

Catherine could tell from the movement of some that there were professional ballroom dancers in the mix with the richer clientele. She wondered if they were highbred, and the thought was then confirmed as some of the professionals started asking around at the tables for dances. Caviar and a tango with a good looking stranger with dinner seemed an oddly elegant indulgence.

She ordered herself an after dinner cocktail, and then touched her knee as it gave a twinge of ache as she watched a particular couple move across the floor. She grimaced at the pain, because it was a phantom ache. It was memory moving in her muscles, gently reminding her of what she shouldn't do for fear of a greater injury.

It was then that a man approached her table. She smiled up at him and his mess of dark curls.

"Would you like to dance," he asked.

"Catherine nodded and said, "No."

"Mixed signals, much?"

She let out an airy guffaw. "Yes, well… I'd love to dance. I'm just afraid I can't at the moment."

He blinked at her and then said, "Okay. It's just that…Normally, the people sitting down here are-"

"Here for an dance," she interrupted. "I'm really here to…admire the dancing."

He arched and eyebrow and nodded. Then he put his hand to his chin and said, "I can get one of the ladies to take you around if you prefer."

"I…" Catherine began to chuckle. "What's your name?"

"Nichol. You aren't going to report me, are you?"

"Not for being that observant." She grinned. "Nichol, I'm a professional dancer, well… I was, now I'm a choreographer, and about a year ago I had double surgery on my ACL."

He blinked and then nodded. "I can be gentle."

Catherine searched his features for a moment and then took a sip from her drink. She stood up and took Nichol's hand and said, "Try and keep it in the middle somewhere. I hate it when I'm treated like a fragile thing."

* * *

Dancing made Catherine happy. It made her feel alive, but it always had. Her dancing partner for the evening, or, at the very least, moment, took things easy on her. He had a great knack for knowing when she was going to push things to hard, and a subtle way to keep her from doing so. He could read her well, and it was a wonder that he was making a living dancing with rich partners at a restaurant instead of making the rounds in professional competitions. There was likely a story there, but Catherine wasn't going to press for it. She figured one confession was enough for the night, and she didn't need to hear the confessions of another.

After a few dances she took a rest back at her table. She ordered a non-alcoholic beverage to help cool her down and watched as Nichol tried to work his charms on another table, feeling bad when he was turned down. He strolled up to her and she nodded for him to sit down.

"You aren't going to end up on my bill, are you," Catherine asked.

"No, but you are free to tip generously if you feel I'm worth it," Nichol replied.

She laughed. "When does this place close?"

"In another hour or so. Why, got a hot date?"

"Nope. I was just wondering."

"Need company?" He waggled his eyebrows comically.

"Maybe, but not the sort I can get from you.," she said softly, almost sadly.

He nodded. "You need a date."

"Not really."

"You do. It's written all over your face." He sat back in the chair he occupied and then said, "You've hit a wall. You spilled yourself into your work and now you've hit a wall."

"Observant, but missing the point."

"Am I?" He slid his chair back and then stood up. "You're a woman who is recovering from more than a busted knee, and a little creative block."

"What would you recommend," Catherine asked, and tried to ask coolly, but it came out bitter and she winced at her tone.

Nichol grinned. "Maybe you should make a wish. Toss a coin into a fountain. Maybe it'll shed light on what you really want."

Catherine bit her bottom lip. "You'd get on fabulously with my brother, you know that?"

He shook his head. "I'd probably hate his guts. I'm not a very agreeable guy."

* * *

The fountain was something she remembered having seen in a movie. It was out of the way, but just famous enough of a landmark to attract tourists off the main paces of the city streets. Her limo driver kept a protective eye on her as she walked around the monument.

She stopped a few times to admire the statue standing amidst the cascading water. Then she pulled a penny out of her handbag and tossed it into the water, but she didn't make a wish. At least, she didn't make a wish that she was actually aware of making, the heart made wishes all the time without the mind's consent.

She looked around and sat along the edge of the fountain. A lonely notebook sat discarded next to her. She picked it up and thumbed through it, finding it blank inside.

She smiled and put it back down.

"So, what's the lesson," she asked herself as she stood up. Then she sighed , and pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed a number. A female voice answered with a curious greeting, and then Catherine sighed and said, "I want to come home. Will you let me?"

End.


End file.
